General Drabbles
by Stephane Richer
Summary: a collection of non-romantic Kuroko no Basuke drabbles, originally posted on tumblr. Various characters, ratings, genres and themes
1. Chapter 1

General Drabbles

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I decided to try a new thing and write drabbles. These are the non-romantic ones I posted in September; presumably I'll keep doing them and update every month.

* * *

1. Only Human (Koganei Shinji, Kiyoshi Teppei, 201 wds, K+)

Koganei Shinji brushes off feelings of inadequacy like dandruff from his jacket. While it's true that he's never the best at anything, he's never the worst, either. He works at things and gets better, but it's gradual and even when he works he never gets to the top (of course, he's not the best at working hard and being persistent). He can always find some area or niche in which he's better than each person he knows, anyway—not that he's all that competitive, but it's nice to know.

Then he meets Kiyoshi Teppei and plays basketball with him and realizes that not only is Kiyoshi better than him at basketball in general and at every skill, he's better at every position. It's an odd feeling to see someone that far above him, someone so talented—it takes his breath away.

But Kiyoshi's only human, after all. It's not that Koganei's climbing up the mountain to reach Kiyoshi's status; Kiyoshi falls. He's a supernova, the sickening sound of his knee failing as he burns even brighter a sign of what is sure to be a fall that's hardly graceful (that sound haunts Koganei's dreams for longer than he'll care to admit).

* * *

2. Grow (Fukuda Hiroshi, Mitobe Rinnosuke, 199 wds, K)

The first time Fukuda Hiroshi enters a game is in his second year. The first time he gets the ball, the result is a turnover. It's hard for him to not look at himself as a failure—after all, it's midway through the year and everyone else on the team has started a game before he has even gotten a chance to play in one. Of course, he knows there are more contributing factors than his own ineptitude—the fact that there are always too many centres, especially with their phenomenal new freshman. Still, after the turnover he makes a block, although it's bordering on being a foul (it doesn't draw a whistle, though) and the other team regains possession. Still, it's something.

Their next time out, the freshman is subbed back in. Fukuda sits on the bench; no one speaks to him (they're all watching Izuki dribble). Fukuda feels pressure on his hand; he looks up. Mitobe cocks his head at Fukuda and looks into his eyes—and says, silently, _don't get too caught up in the moment. You'll get another chance soon._ Fukuda can't help but believe him, although he will concede that he's sometimes foolishly optimistic.

* * *

3. Reflection (Sakamoto Kenjirou, 220 wds, K)

They were supposed to be kings, nigh-unbeatable, titans. And for a while they were, for a magical moment (for what now seems like a moment) Sakamoto Kenjirou was part of that, the glorious tradition of Seihou, one that continued on and would continue forever, they said. Sakamoto was a backup when they won the Interhigh in his first year, celebrated with the team but did not fully get it, did not fully feel like a part of the team. He got some playing time in the Winter Cup, where they finished a respectable third place behind Yosen and Touou, and he began to take pride in himself, as a basketball player and especially as a Seihou player.

And then of course it came crashing down on him, the rapid descent to fifth place in the following Winter Cup and that awful loss to Seirin at the Interhigh the next year.

He has ingrained this pride in himself, and so have his teammates, and they no longer have very much to be proud of. They tried hard, but somehow, somewhere along the line that wasn't enough. They could have squeezed in a little extra practice, focus, resolve.

He keeps telling himself this. It's easier to blame yourself than to admit that the other team was simply better than you, isn't it?

* * *

4. Champagne (Fukui Kensuke, Kasuga Ryuuhei, 369 wds, T)

Each year, they'd seen each other at the final. They'd met during the season, of course, had played against each other, had recognized the other's team as formidable opponents. Of course, each year they'd vowed to the other that he would be the one to revel in the glory, how he'd pop a bottle of champagne with his teammates.

Of course, this year neither one made it to the final four, let alone won the whole thing. This time, there's no next year, no vow. They're just like everyone else; only a small sliver of their number ever gets to experience this type of glory, this rush of victory. It had been a pipe dream, anyhow, right?

"Fuck this," Fukui mutters at halftime, to no one in particular. Okamura raises an eyebrow as Fukui hightails to the exit, minus his coat. He'll be back, maybe only for a slimmer of the fourth quarter but he's not planning on leaving completely. Kasuga, it seems has had the same idea as him. They stand with their backs to the wall as exited fans chatter around them, some faces that they recognize and some that they don't.

"It's a good match," Kasuga says. He's slumped slightly, and Fukui, standing straight, seems taller than him in this moment.

Fukui knows he's probably bursting with analysis; he's always been that kind of guy—but that it's leaving a bitter taste in his mouth because _it should be him_. It's impossible to be less narcissistic than they are, but they've been telling themselves the whole time that this is their destiny. How can they extract their own dreams now?

They stand in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. The public address announcer warns that there are five minutes left until halftime is over. Kasuga cocks his head toward the entrance to the seating section. Fukui nods.

This is no time to be self-absorbed. Kasuga's right; it's a hell of a good match, and right now he's got to put this shit behind him because whatever the end it'll be interesting. He's had his chance; the day and the glory belongs to one of these two teams. He'll keep telling himself that, at least.

* * *

5. Silence (Seto Kentarou, 251 wds, K+)

They sell those worthless machines to make white noise, things that supposedly help people sleep. They also sell headphones to cancel the noise, to make the world silent around someone's ears. Repetition, whether of a sound or of silence, really isn't conducive to rest, Seto decides as he's drifting off in practice while the irregular squeak of sneakers on wood is punctuated by an occasional shout. It's a cacophony that's mixed with the creak of the shifting weight of the boards on the bench. This, this gathering of sound, it's more comfortable, he thinks. That's his last coherent thought as he falls into a deep sleep, slumped over on the bench.

He's the type of guy who can fall asleep anywhere, under any circumstances, but he doesn't always fall asleep right away. If he lies still in the dark for a few minutes he's always sure to drift off anyway, but it's better when he's on the train and the conductor is making an announcement or the person beside him is talking, and when he's in class and there's an open discussion with a clash of his classmates' ugly voices and when he's at home and the cars are driving by and the people are fighting all night long and the alley cats are meowing at one another. When it's loud and random he falls asleep trying to make sense of the pattern, so interested he doesn't notice the steady rhythm of his own breathing and the weightlessness in his limbs.

* * *

6. Stirring of the Wind (Okamura Kenichi, Imayoshi Shouichi, 195 wds, K)

It's been a long time since they've met; a season has come and gone; the wind is cold and bitter now. They are both in the process of shedding their titles, the burdens that have been weighing down their shoulders, burdens that reached their peak weight back in the summer. Their heirs are argumentative, and their reigns will be interesting to say the least. But now is an awkward moment and they are caught between the past, between things they had spent ages cultivating and building up carefully, and a blank, wide-open future where they must start from the bottom again.

"You know, it's good to be in Tokyo," Okamura says, raising his hands above his head so that it feels like he towers even more over Imayoshi than he actually does.

Imayoshi laughs. 'That's because you're from here."

Okamura joins him in laughter. It's good sometimes to make stupid small talk like this, because even that much can help build up your relationship, and even if it all comes tumbling down like a sand castle beneath the waves, it will have been there, even if you two were the only ones to see it.


	2. Chapter 2

General Drabbles Part 2

Author's Note: I realized I would probably not have the patience to go through a month's worth of drabbles if I keep writing at this pace, so...schedule shift to weekly for now.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

7. Letters (Ogiwara Shigehiro, 262 wds, T)

He tries to block it from his mind, but of course he cannot. He goes on internet forums, looks for hope, ways to let go. _Slit your wrists, beat the person up, just smile a fake smile and soon it will become real, hypnotize yourself, go to therapy, just man up and forget_—nothing seems like a viable solution, really. Here, no one knows his name so it would be easier to put on a smile because no one would pity him—but somehow he can't bring himself to lift his eyes from the ground.

_Write letters_, he sees at the bottom of a page. _Write letters to the people you know, but don't send them_.

He starts out, _Dear Mochida, Dear Kuroko, _and so on and so forth, but even though he knows they won't read the letters he really has nothing to say to his (former) friends. He starts a letter to his coach, a letter to the girl who sat next to him in class—but these don't seem appropriate either.

Finally, he prints, _Dear Akashi-san_, and from there the words start flowing. Questions, accusations, statements, everything, even things unrelated to basketball and unrelated to friendship and teamwork and morals and everything. He starts off preachy and stiff and ends conversational, as if speaking to a friend.

He touches the tip of his cigarette to the paper. The smoke curls off and dissolves into the air and the corner of the paper withers, blackened now. He feels just a little bit better, and maybe that little bit is enough.

* * *

8. Sharp (Shirogane Kouzou, Takeuchi Genta, 326 wds, K)

Shirogane Eiji is a sharp man. Takeuchi's not going to say it to his face, but his brother Kouzou is even sharper. He notices things that even Eiji doesn't, and his leadership skills—well, how is it possible to be a better leader than the captain of a national sports team? Apparently it is possible, somehow, and Takeuchi can't take time to marvel about it.

He acts like a pest, bugging the guy who always ends up tagging along, whether by Eiji's request (well, okay, they're never really requests with Eiji) and inviting himself over to Kouzou's apartment, asking him about what he thinks of this and that and how he could help Takeuchi become a better basketball player. All the guys on the team, and even some of the bolder members of the women's team, tease him about it, telling him he's just like a loyal little dog. But then it's Takeuchi's turn to laugh when his game improves, when his tactics improve, when he starts to offer decent advice to the other players.

It's natural that both he and Kouzou would end up as basketball coaches, Kouzou for the most prestigious of all those sports-factory middle schools and Takeuchi for a high school with a strong basketball tradition. Kouzou even nudges a few of his players Takeuchi's way, and they're among the best Takeuchi's ever had the privilege to teach—excellent fundamentals, good work ethic, and a will to win above all else.

Then, Kouzou gets sick, and Takeuchi visits him in the hospital, incredibly worried. But Kouzou greets him with a smile, tells him all about this kid who's a natural and Kouzou has just started coaching him—he reminds Kouzou of Takeuchi a bit, and Takeuchi's not sure what he means by this and can't ask because visiting time is over.

He calls Kouzou up after Kise's first practice. "Was I really this much of an airhead?" he says.

Kouzou just laughs.

* * *

9. Physics (Mochida, Furihata Kouki, 414 wds, K+)

Furihata's never seen this kid before but he's destroying his opponent in one-on-one, faking and dribbling around him and taking very wise, conservative shots. He's a very good player, and he plays in a sort of familiar style. Furihata's quite sure he faced something of the sort at some point—possibly in a rec league against a rival basketball academy, or maybe in middle school. Most of it blends together.

His fingers clench around the wire of the fence. The match is really exciting, and he can't wait to see what this guy's going to do next, but his opponent throws up his hands and gives up, striding out through the gates, winded but still wanting to salvage the tiniest bit of pride.

The other guy frowns and shoots the ball from where he's standing, a few feet behind the free-throw line. It goes in with a decisive swish. Glancing around, he spots Furihata.

"Hey, want to play?"

"…me?" Furihata squeaks out.

The guy shrugs. "If you don't want to, that's fine, too."

"No, wait!" He jogs around and into the court, thankful that he decided to wear athletic shorts today. The guy gives him first possession, something he weakly protests but is grateful for. As fun as he is to watch, he's really intimidating. Finally, before they start, they exchange names—he's Mochida, a name that totally doesn't ring a bell. Furihata isn't sure whether it's prying to ask where he went to middle school or if he played in a rec league, so he just takes the ball and starts dribbling.

He hasn't been able to warm up (Furihata cringes as he hears Coach Riko's angry shouts in his head but continues playing nonetheless) so Mochida gets the early lead. Still, Furihata's managing to stay with him and manages to get around Mochida's defense. He's got an excellent dribble, though, and he shoots a fairly decent three, so on the defensive side Furihata doesn't have much of a chance. Still, he can keep the deficit from widening.

It turns out Coach's horrible exercises have paid off, because Mochida loses half a step while Furihata's still going strong and he manages to steal the ball and drive past him a few times. Finally, though, they both agree to stop because Mochida's getting pretty tired. The score is tied and it is getting a bit late, so Furihata decides to go on home.

He wonders if he'll ever see this guy again. Probably not.

* * *

10. Never Again (Kasamatsu Yukio, Moriyama Yoshitaka, 165 wds, T)

They're graduating, and all Kasamatsu Yukio can think is _fucking finally_. He won't have to deal with shitty high school classes and crowded hallways and these teachers who have made his life hard. He won't have to wear a stupid uniform anymore (he seriously never wants to see this particular shade of grey ever again) and he won't have to deal with certain annoying classmates. By "certain annoying classmates" Kasamatsu of course means Moriyama Yoshitaka. Seriously, if they exchange absolutely zero words after this it will be great.

Of course, after the ceremony Moriyama is hanging out uselessly beneath a cherry tree, offering his buttons to the girls who are practically running away. Kasamatsu certainly won't miss this guy's annoying obsession with romance and finding the perfect girl. Still, no matter how much he wants to laugh or roll his eyes at Moriyama, he finds there's something caught in his throat and in his eyes.

Damn it. He really is going to miss that idiot.

* * *

11. Snow (Papa Mbaye Siki, 173 wds, T)

It doesn't snow in Senegal. Yeah, he's heard about snow, seen pictures of it, but it seems bizarre, removed from reality. Is it fluffy? It's frozen water, so isn't that just ice? But how is it so opaque? Is it just cotton candy with no food coloring?

He doesn't think of snow often, until somehow he ends up in Japan on a basketball scholarship. His teammates are curious about Senegal, but his Japanese is so shitty at first that it doesn't make a difference and he can't answer their questions because they're saying things that weren't in his language textbook.

By the time it snows, he understands more, speaks the language better, can adequately express himself and say in perfect Japanese, "What the hell is this?"

"It's _snow_," one of his teammates says, both exasperated with his short temper and amused by his lack of familiarity with what to him is normal precipitation.

It's not fluffy or sticky or really all that much like regular ice. Still, he might grow to like it.


	3. Chapter 3

General Drabbles Part 3

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

12. Light (Ootsubo Taisuke, Kiyoshi Teppei, 222 wds, K+)

Ootsubo knows, of course, because Ootsubo sees these things. He's quite observant and doesn't interfere when he shouldn't (but he interferes absolutely when he should); this is part of what makes him a good captain. He knows Kiyoshi's knee injury isn't just a small thing, that he won't rest and get it better. Of course, everyone knows what happened—but Ootsubo knows what's going to happen, that which Kiyoshi is trying (and seemingly in vain) to hide.

They don't speak much; they're old comrades, treading somewhere between acquaintances, rivals and friends. They're both pushing for the same something, and this is their last chance to get there, to be number one. It's likely that neither one of them will get there, but winning it all is, can be, within their grasps.

"In the end, though, it's not us, is it?"

Kiyoshi shakes his head, smiling. Ootsubo knows exactly how to phrase it. They're not pretending to not be integral parts of their teams, but the blatant glory-seeking is better left to someone who has the fire of a Miyaji or a Hyuuga, the unlimited ceiling of a Takao or a Kagami—they are the ones more intricately involved, the ones who control the finer points and make the most difference. Even if Kiyoshi had made that free throw—but enough about that.

* * *

13. Courage (Hyuuga Junpei, Izuki Shun, 159 wds, K)

It takes courage to assume a leadership role, to be the first one to say what must be said, to hold things together, to take matters into one's own hands. It takes a different kind of courage to hold back and let things unfold, to have others take up the mantle because it is their time, to recognize such a thing and look it right in the face and not to shout back at it and attempt to defy it and to not back down. Hyuuga is a rare specimen; he possesses both kinds of courage and uses his discretion to pick and choose which to use. Occasionally he's wrong, but it's really not all that often, and Hyuuga admits his mistakes and moves on.

Izuki wants to praise that courage, to thank Hyuuga for it—but really, there's no point. In the end, Hyuuga would rather be recognized for other things, and he deserves as much as that.

* * *

14. Drive (Liu Wei, Wakamatsu Kousuke, 212 wds, K+)

Liu Wei's mouth turns up in a sneer, as it so often does when he feels insulted, upon his first introduction to Wakamatsu Kousuke. The kid's a shrimp—probably 190 centimeters tall, maybe less, and he's just reached two meters himself. Said shrimp is supposed to be guarding him this game? Is Touou's coach out of his mind?

Oh, he's heard this and that about Touou's strength but he hears stuff like that about every school and now is not the day when some other freshman gets the better of him.

Wakamatsu tries, and he's far better than Liu was expecting—which still isn't saying much. Still, he's got a very good jump and is quite aggressive, meaning Liu has to take farther shots or pass the ball over his head or try to wait back and get a less-than-optimal release on his shot so he can wait for Wakamatsu to come down. Besides, offense is not Yosen's main priority, and Liu easily shuts Wakamatsu down defensively (and Yosen wins).

"Better luck next time, Shrimp," Liu says after the game, sneer in full force.

Wakamatsu swears a blue streak at him—and there are even some words in there that Fukui hasn't taught him yet. Hmm. He'll have to pick those up.

* * *

15. Butterfly (Momoi Satsuki, Kise Ryouta, 124 wds, K+)

Momoi slams the magazine on the table. She wants to tear it to shreds, tear the writer to shreds because he does not know _anything_ about basketball or metaphors or Ki-chan. He's got some kind of nerve, comparing her Ki-chan to a butterfly. Sure, he's beautiful (although in the list of really important things about him that's fairly low down) and it's taken him a long time to catch up, but he was a prodigy from the very beginning, even before he knew it and before anyone knew it. He's like rough silk that's been strung into the toughest, most beautiful thread that can withstand so much weight. Butterflies are transient, pinned down easily; their lives are only so long. He's got staying power.

* * *

16. Logic (Seto Kentarou, Furuhashi Koujirou, Hara Kazuya, 165 wds, T)

Filling out these career forms is so dumb. Hara purposefully forgets his, but he looks at Seto's anyway, tucked under his folded arm that creates a makeshift pillow for his head because he's asleep yet again, and the list reads "1. Lawyer 2. Lawyer 3. Lawyer". Hara snorts and jerks his head toward Furuhashi; Furuhashi kicks Seto in the back.

"A lawyer?"

Seto doesn't bother to lift his sleep mask or, for that matter, his head. "If I'm a lawyer I can sleep a lot. It's basically waiting for the other side to return your contracts."

"So not, like, court cases?"

Seto doesn't answer. Either he's ignoring Hara or he's gone back to sleep.

"That's the shittiest logic I've ever heard. Don't they have logic on the law school entrance exams? How are you going to pass that?" By now, Hara knows he's talking out of his ass. Seto can be very logical, but only when he wants to be. Which is apparently not now.

* * *

17. Nowhere and Nothing (Shirogane Eiji, 142 wds, K+

Sometimes he likes the void, drives out and away from Kyoto toward nowhere and nothing. His hands shake because the night in a shiny car is best enjoyed with a cigarette—but it's too much of a risk with all the heart problems in his family. Back when he was younger, he could drive out of Tokyo in the middle of the night alone like a ghost back when it was so much less developed—he'd think about the future, then, tomorrow's game, the next Olympics, what he'd be doing when he was fifty. Now he thinks about the past, whether he used the right lineup or done the right training schedule because if he'd trained better he'd have lasted longer. He thinks about other cars that felt better to drive in and the smell of the cigarettes he used to smoke.

* * *

18. Eight Seconds (Momoi Satsuki, Susa Yoshinori, Mayuzumi Chihiro, 230 wds, K+)

Eight seconds, that's all it takes. She'd given Susa as much warning as she could, but really, when it all came down to it he had to actually play the game and she couldn't—she couldn't go one-on-one, power forward against power forward. Imayoshi had nodded, because he knew, too, knew exactly what was going to happen. It wasn't Susa's fault, of course—and had it been almost any other forward in the country he was up against (even perhaps Kise) she'd bet on Susa. But this is Rakuzan, and in the eight seconds against Mayuzumi Chihiro Susa is destroyed. He tries, stays with him a few milliseconds longer than she'd expected, but ultimately, he fails and Mayuzumi finds the infinitesimal crack in the wall and breaks through it and passes the ball, floating, to Nebuya, who slams it into the hoop with more force than even a regular slam dunk.

There is time on the clock left, but no matter how hard they fight it will not be enough. Rakuzan has sealed their win, sealed their Interhigh title, even without their captain and ace against what is basically a full Touou team (Aomine never plays more than half a match, anyway). His eyes meet hers as he jogs down the court, past the Touou bench. There is neither fire nor ice in them; there is only hard, solid steel.

* * *

19. Enthusiasm (Nijimura Shuuzou, 148 wds, K+)

He passes a kid on the street who stomps his foot and sweeps his arm down, on the way from his first job to his second, momentarily distracted from the physics formulas he's regurgitating to himself in his head, trying to ingrain them for the test tomorrow. The kid is grinning like this is the most important thing in his life and his teeth sparkle not because they're clean but because—Nijimura can't afford to be sentimental right now, can't afford to be distracted. He's already going to be cutting it close, time-wise.

Still, as he mindlessly takes customers' orders of onion rings and chicken fingers and hamburgers and French fries and sodas (no, we don't have an extra-large size) he can't help but think of that kid again and again. What was it about him?

Oh, yeah. Enthusiasm. Nijimura might have had enough energy for that once.


End file.
